Mummy
by IamyourJohntoyourSherlock
Summary: A BBC Sherlock fic that delves into Sherlock's past...
1. Chapter 1

Mummy- chapter 1

**A/N- I hope you like this new fic I'm writing, based post reichenbach and delving very much into Sherlock's past...**

Sherlock Holmes gripped the fuschia rohdedendrons tightly in his hand. Mycroft stood next to him, with a sweaty brow. Sherlock instantly deduced this as nervousness (simple deduction) and pushed open the cemetry gates.

They walked together in silence subconciously respecting the dead. When they arrived at their Mother's grave, Sherlock saw a tear roll down Mycroft's face. The Mummy he talked to every day wasn't actually their Mother. It was their adopted Mother.

That's why Mycroft worried about Sherlock so much. Because there wasn't a Mummy there to help him, love him and most of all protect him from the cruel world. Though, Mycroft still knew the things Sherlock had seen and done. He knew very well that Sherlock had explored the darker depths of the world.

Their Mother had died when Sherlock was just five years old, killed by a member of the Moriarty family. Sherlock hadn't been told this until after the fall, but Mycroft and Sherlock didn't dwell on it too much.

Sherlock took a deep breath. He neede his violin, and now. His brother was aggravating him, but he kept calm and slowly set the flowers down at his Mother's headstone.

He cast his mind back to the day that they had told him his mither had been killed by an unknown killer, and he knew from that day on that he had wanted to be a detective, and his sole mission was to find out who had killed her. Up until then, he had wanted to be a pirate.

Bang. The sound of an AK47 rang through the cemetry. Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock saw his brother collapse in a heap on the floor, with blood coming out of the back of his head. He spun round.

"Honey, I'm back and I'm so bad, you don't even want to know how sweet I am!"

The voice of James Moriarty cascaded darkly through the cemetry.


	2. Chapter 2

Mummy- Chapter 2

**A/N- Sorry the last chapter was a bit short, this will be longer! I promise. Maybe. Hopefully...**

Sherlock sat up straight in the seat of the car, just like his brother had taught him when he was about four. The hearse was rolling through the streets of Kensington, on its way to Brompton Cemetry where Mycroft's funeral was being held. Sherlock puzzled over how Moriarty could possibly be alive, and how he could have acquired an AK-47 and smuggled it into the country without being noticed.

John tapped Sherlock on the shoulder.

"Sherlock," he whispered. Sherlock didn't answer. P_robably in his mind palace or something weird like that,_ John thought to himself as he looked straight ahead.

"As a matter of fact John, I am in my mind palace and I would like it very much if you didn't disturb me. I am trying to figure out how Moriarty killed my brother..." Sherlock trailed off. He was remembering important details, which of course, he never forgot but brought out of the depths of his mind palace every now and again to be remembered and refreshed.

He proceeded to close his eyes again, and delved into his mind, dragging any information about his brother and Moriarty that he could find in his mind palace.

John and Sherlock were sitting in a cab on the way back to 221b. Although John knew that Sherlock was a sociopath, he was slightly concerned for Sherlock's lack of emotion at his own brother's funeral.

"Sherlock, are you feeling all right?"

"Yes John. I'm totally fine. What are you implying? That my brother was shot by Moriarty, so I should be in tears, rocking on the floor, a gibbering wreck like those fan-girls who write sexualised content about you and I being together? I'm a highly functioning sociopath John. I'm supposed to act like this." Sherlock's tone and facial expression remained neutral throughout what he had stated.

"Whatever you say Sherlock, whatever you say..." John sighed.

Back at 221b, Sherlock picked up his violin immediately and started playing. The mindset that Sherlock fell into while playing was that of a Buddhist monk. Completely empty, yet full of ideas. The music flowed gallantly throughout the flat and John had no idea what Sherlock was playing, but it was the type of music he enjoyed whilst he was blogging.

The night fell upon London like an old friend visiting. John had fallen asleep at his laptop, and Sherlock was still playing his trusty violin. He had never admitted this to anyone, but he had named it after his Mother. Abigail. No one knew, and the highly functioning sociopath had to admit it to himself that it was the only sentimental part of his soul. _If there even is a soul, _he thought as he finally put down the bow and sat down on the sofa next to John.


	3. Chapter 3

Mummy- Chapter 3

Sherlock was still locked in his mind the next day. He had nearly worked it out, puzzling over all the hows and the who's and the what's and the where's and the whys.

"John, we're going out." He announced, as if there was an audience to whom he was addressing.

"Where to?" John asked, puzzled at the fact that his friend was so eager to get out of the house for once and actually do something.

"Oh, I don't know, London, the cemetery where my mother is buried, maybe Scotland Yard. Contact the people in my homeless network, see if they've seen anything of Moriarty,"

"Right, well we better be off then, but err I'll have a shower first," John said, awkwardly shuffling towards the bathroom.

A few minutes later John was out of the shower, dressed in his trademark cream pullover and blue jeans.

They walked down the stairs together and out of the flat, saying goodbye to Mrs Hudson. She had always appreciated John and Sherlock's courtesy and politeness, even if they were going out on some antic to solve a crime.

The first thing Sherlock and John did was walk to Sherlock's nearest homeless network operative, by the name of Randy.

"Randy. I need you to tell me everything you have seen or heard from Moriarty. He's alive." Sherlock told Randy.

"Sorry Sherlock, I haven't heard anything of Moriarty since your fall," Randy replied.

"I don't think any of us have heard anything of him since your fall actually," Randy piped up again.

Sherlock nodded slowly, thinking of where to go next in the chase for Moriarty.


	4. Chapter 4

Mummy Chapter 4

John hefted the shopping bags through the door of 221b. Sherlock had been locked in his mind palace for yet another day, after their trip into London which frankly; in John's mind been completely pointless.

Sherlock sifted through the last bits and pieces of information in his mind. He nearly had it. How Moriarty had smuggled the AK-47 into the country without being noticed.

"I have it John, I have it at last!" Sherlock exclaimed, leaping up form the sofa.

"Have what?" John shouted back from the kitchen, where he was putting the shopping away.

"How Moriarty got the AK-47 into Britain without being noticed."

John was intrigued by Sherlock's new revelation and postponed putting away the shopping to listen to what Sherlock had to say.

"He used the Black Lotus. They're still up and running. He used them to get the AK-47 by using one of their operatives. He knew it would take time, so he scheduled the arrival of the gun to the time that Mycroft and I would be at the cemetery visiting Mum, and he killed Mycroft. He knew from previous encounters that I would be nothing without my brother, fortunately he was very wrong. I have a smidgeon of consideration for my Brother, but not a lot. Anyway, I'm sure there's more to this iceberg that meets the eye that needs to be worked out," Sherlock stated, plainly like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

As ever, John was dumbfounded by what Sherlock had managed to work out. John resisted the urge to say anything along the lines of 'wow' or 'amazing' as he knew that it annoyed Sherlock.

"Right," was all John could say.

"I know you're amazed by it. You'll never get over how I do it. And since when have you been shopping?" Sherlock asked, looking at the red line the shopping bags had made on John's hands.

"Since about two hours ago," John sighed.

Sherlock clearly wasn't listening. He had just received a mysterious text from an anonymous person:

_Taxi is waiting. Come now. There are important matters to deal with. Don't Bring the Friend. _

"John I'm going out. Without you, I'll see you later," Sherlock said.

"OK. If you don't mind me asking where to?"

"I have absolutely no idea," Sherlock said, grinning.

He grabbed his scarf and coat, ran down the stairs and said goodbye to Mrs Hudson. Feeling very much intrigued at this new discovery of this mystery person coming onto the scene.

In the taxi, there was an unknown driver. Probably for all the right reasons. They drove through the vast expanse of the London streets, which Sherlock had memorised, so he knew exactly where he was going. They drove for what felt like hours. Sherlock started to feel a little drowsy.

"Chemical N20. Very good, mystery person." Sherlock said as he let himself fall into an unconscious state.

Sherlock awoke, feeling the counter effects of the sleeping gas. He had a pounding headache, which was not fun. _Headaches were are never fun for anyone, _He thought. Sherlock was tied to a chair. He knew it was futile if he was going to resist. The room he was in was dark, and smelled damp.

A thirty year old man walked in, the room seemingly lighting up on his command. It was revealed that the room was indeed very large. It had a cold stone floor, with ferns growing down the walls and water dripping down from the ceiling every now and then.

"Hello Sherlock," The man said. His face was now lit up in the eerie light. He had two scars on the right side of his face. He was smoking. The smoke shrouded him in a ghostly cloud. Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to keep calm. His blond-brown hair was messy, and he smiled at Sherlock's obvious discomfort at the fact he was smoking.

"Ah yes. I forgot you smoked," he smiled again, exhaling a large puff of smoke into to Sherlock's face.

"Who are you and what do you want from me?" Sherlock's voice echoed through the building.

"Oh. You really want to know do you? I thought I would give you some clues first. See how good you are at this deduction business." He said, smiling a sadistic smile that only a criminal could hold.

"I'm a colonel. If that helps. Or maybe you need more clues."

"I'm one of Moriarty's men. That should be enough for you to work who I am," He smiled that dastardly evil smile yet again, and for Sherlock, it was clique already.

"You're Colonel Sebastian Moran. Not too hard to guess really. Now that I've guessed who you are, can I go please? I'm getting rather bored here." Sherlock said, the monotone of boredom laced thick in his voice.

"Oh no. The surprise is yet to come. The really exciting part is that Moriarty and I are related in the closest way you can ever imagine. We're Brothers," Moran hissed, the evil smile making yet another appearance.


	5. Chapter 5

Mummy Chapter 5

**A/N- I'm so sorry I left you guys on a mahoosive cliffhanger last chapter. No. No I'm not. MUHAHAHAH! OK. I have no idea what just happened. Just read the story. P.S there's a bit of romantical stuff in this chapter (not Johnlock and not smut so don't worry)**

Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, back at 221b with a mug of black, very sugary tea to calm him down. He had told John everything that had happened to him. John was shocked at the fact that Sebastian Moran and James Moriarty were brothers. But Sebastian was adopted, so maybe it didn't count.

"So, they're brothers, and Sebastian hasn't turned up this whole time?" John had asked, obviously confused at how this worked.

"Yes John. They're brothers. And we would have met Seb if he was part of the antics with Moriarty. I need some time to think. I have a feeling this is all connected; in fact, screw that; It is connected." Sherlock said, very defiantly.

"Right. Well. I guess you'll be in you 'mind palace' for a few days then. I'll go and do overtime at the surgery or something," John sighed, annoyed but sympathetic of the fact he had been losing so much time with his best friend.

Sherlock had already started to go through information about Moriarty and Seb. What they look liked, how they acted. The cases he had managed to solve almost a year ago now. A study in Pink. The Blind Banker. The Great Game. A Scandal in Belgravia. The Hound of Baskerville. The Reichenbach fall. He kept them all locked in his head. The day he had met John. All the memories, feelings and deductions he had made. The sentimental parts of his soul. The bits of him that weren't overcome by sociopathy.

John wandered aimlessly around London for a bit to find a present for his newest girlfriend, Mina. He finally decided on a necklace from a jewellery shop that sold inexpensive, 12 carat diamond jewellery. It was probably fake, but it was the thought that counted. He walked to Mina's apartment, and pushed the buzzer. Mina smiled when she saw John, and gave him a hug. She had short, dark hair and tanned skin. Her eyes were a green-gold colour. The colour of autumn reflected in her in every way.

"Hey John, what brings you here this fine day?" She said, smiling. Her life was filled with endless happy thoughts.

"Well, as you know, my flatmate Sherlock has a very... demanding job, and I was wondering if I could stay here for a few days while he works."

"Of course you can! Anything for my brave little soldier!" Mina said, smiling and holding John's hand as she led him into the cosy little apartment built for one. They went into the kitchen and Mina made coffee for the both of them, decaf, of course.

She and John sat on her sofa, watching a cheesy children's games show in which you had to answer questions about the solar system to win prizes. John thought back to the time when he had tried to explain the solar system to Sherlock. But Sherlock didn't care. Ah well. He was here with Mina. She leaned in to kiss and John took the offer with offer with open arms. Her breath was hot on his face, and as soon as their lips collided, it was like magic. A burst of electricity. They pulled away from each other, smiling at each other and kissing again.

John lay down in Mina's soft bed, the both of them reading Victor Hugo's romantic poems to each other. They fell asleep like this together, Mina's head nestled in John's shoulder.

The next morning, John received a text from Sherlock.

_John. I've worked it out-_

_SH _

John quickly put on some clothes and kissed a still sleeping Mina on the cheek. He found a post-it note and wrote a little telling Mina that Sherlock had finished his work, and he would see her tomorrow. He put it on her bedside table and gave her another quick peck on the cheek.

Sherlock laid down Abigail. In the time that he had managed to work out who had killed the actual Abigail, he had also composed a new piece. John walked trough the door. Sherlock opened his mouth to tell John his new revelation, when a text arrived.

_Oooh, and I have something extra to tell you, my memory is so bad these days. I killed Abigail, your beloved Mother. Take that; The 'Great' Sherlock Holmes-_

_SM_


	6. Chapter 6

Mummy Chapter 6

**A/N- I am mean to you aren't I? Sorry I haven't updated in aggeeess. Busy. With procrastination. Mostly Tumblr. And watching Supernatural. **

Sherlock's face dropped, but as quick as a flash lit up into a smile that could ignite the whole world.

"I knew it! Just knew it!" He said jumping up from his seat.

"Sherlock? You texted me. You said you had found out who killed your Mother. Who was it? And who was that text from?" John asked.

"Moran. He killed her. Don't know how, but Mycroft said after the fall that Mother was killed by a member of the Moriarty family. It was Moran all along. I obviously deduced quickly that it couldn't have been Moriaty: He would have mentioned it to tease me before the fall. So, the next thing will be to figure out how and why he killed her. My father shall be useful for that. If he's still around." Sherlock explained articulately to John.

John sighed and just nodded and accepted the fact there might be a little more wild goose chasing to come.

John cast his mind back to two years ago, when Sherlock faked is own death. He had never told John how he did it. One day Sherlock had just turned up at 221b as if nothing had happened. John was a mess of beer bottles, and on the verge of suicide when Sherlock came back. He remembered the first thing he did was punch Sherlock in the face for abandoning him for six months, not calling or texting. Rumour has it he went to Tibet to meditate with monks or something like that. But John knew better. Sherlock had since moved back in, and the fall was rarely discussed.

"Going out, with you, now. We are going on the hunt for my father. Shouldn't take too long. I hope. He should give us more intelligence about the whereabouts of Moran and Moriarty."


	7. Chapter 7

Mummy Chapter 7

**A/N- I am nice to you guys aren't I? Two chapters in two days. Lucky things. This is a one off though! **

"We may as well go into the centre of London and start searching from there. Last time I knew my father was, he was centred somewhere in Vauxhall, fairly close to where his office is." Sherlock said as they walked out the flat to get a taxi.

"OK. Makes sense."John said, submissive to Sherlock's choices.

"Yes. We will start at the embankment and find him. Wherever he is. My father is very illusive. Always has been, what with his job and everything."

"What's his job?" John asked.

"He's an operative for MI5. Mostly desk work, but he goes on a few missions from time to time."

They got into a taxi and set off to the embankment, which was only fifteen minutes away from 221b.

Once they had arrived, they walked across Waterloo bridge to get to the other side of the river, where all the interesting stuff was. The both of them were walking towards kings' college campus where Sherlock had an inkling his father was when Sherlock received a text.

_No. 55 Tooley street. Warehouse. Now.-_

_JM_

"It's a text. From Moriarty."

That's all Sherlock had to say. John was now worried for his friend. The secret meetings that Moran and Moriarty had been having with Sherlock were getting distressing. He had to help his friend, but Sherlock wouldn't have any of it. He was like a little child the way he acted sometimes. And John hated him for it, but then again still loved Sherlock for being just that. Sherlock.

They both jumped in a taxi to take them to 55 Tooley Street.

In the warehouse, Moriarty and Moran were poking someone with the butts of their guns. He was in a cell, lying with blood on the ground, groaning at the pain. John wasn't sure who it was, but Sherlock instantly made it out to be his Father.

"Dad." He muttered under his breath. Tears were glistening in his eyes. His father was lying half dead on the floor of a cell, mangled, beaten and battered. Hatred flared up inside him.

"You heartless Bastards. You have killed my whole family. I didn't know how much I hated you. Until now." Sherlock shouted, voice cracking as he finished his sentence.

"Sherlock?" His dad moaned wearily, like a little child calling out to his mother.

"Dad. It's me. I've got John here too. Don't worry. We'll get you out alive. They killed My. But they won't get you. I'm here."

At that moment, John saw the sociopathic Sherlock fade away into the darkness. He truly cared about his father; for all the right reasons too. He was the only scrap of family Sherlock had left. His Mother and Brother were murdered by these two.

"Oh, but how wrong you are. No one in this building apart my dear brother and I are getting out of here alive. I repeat. No one." James' voice rung through the warehouse.

"And how right you are brother." Moran's' snake hiss of a voice slithered through the room, seemingly make everything darker.

Sherlock made a run for the cell, in an attempt to save his father. But he was too slow. Moran shoved Sherlock in the cell and got inside, holding both of them to gunpoint.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, aiming and shooting his gun at the general shape of Moriarty. Years of war and constant gunfire had John shooting right at Moriarty's head. He collapsed in a messy heap on the ground.

"Thanks John. I never really liked him anyway." Moran hissed.

"Moran. Please. Just. Let. Them. Go. This will all be over if you do. No one gets hurt and we all go home al little shaken but carry on living our lives. Please." John was almost to the point of showing his desperateness too much.

"Oh how I do like hearing people beg. It is music to my ears. John. You've got to understand. This man is responsible for as many deaths as I am. I want sweet revenge for all the things he has done to me."

Bang.

"Sherlock!" John shouted again, heart racing.

"John. I'm still here. That. That was my father." Sherlock said, voice cracking from keeping in the sobs.

Bang.

"No! Sherlock!"

John ran over to his friend, taking his hand. Blood was seeping out of his stomach. He ripped off his shirt and wrapped it around his stomach, momentarily slowing the bleeding. He whipped out his phone quick as a flash and dialled 999.

Sherlock's head was spinning. He had been shot in the stomach by Moran. Moriarty was dead for real. John was shirtless. He didn't know what for. Everything was going black. Johns voice was slowing. Unconsciousness consumed him. The last thing he heard was John shouting his name.


	8. Chapter 8

Mummy Chapter 8

**A/N- Wow. Last chapter. it's been an eventful few months with writers block and endless typing. But the end is nigh. Now go forth and read! **

Bleep. Bleep. Bleep. Bleep. The constant, monotonous noise of the heart rate monitor nearly sent John to sleep. But he had to stay awake. For Sherlock. He held Sherlock's hand, wishing him to wake up out of the induced coma the doctors had put him in to recover from his operation.

Molly, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade had all visited him in hospital, giving him flowers that he clearly didn't want, or need. Molly had teared up a little at the sight of him lying there.

John had been at his bedside 24/7 since Sherlock had been admitted. He had undergone a major operation to fix his stomach wound almost immediately after the incident. Now, he was lying there, limp and lifeless, his curly black hair flopping over his pale face. John's only indication that Sherlock was alive was the rasping breaths he took, and the constant bleep of the heart monitor.

Soon enough, at exactly two pm a doctor strolled into Sherlock's private ward, followed hastily by a nurse. He looked down at John, as he always did at this time every day.

"We've decided to take a big step in the recovery process. We will be taking Sherlock out of the induced coma. We need to be sure that he will wake up. Obviously he will be in quite a bit of pain, but drugs will fix that." The doctor said. Quickly he gave Sherlock a once over with a stethoscope and nodded at the nurse. She ushered John out of the room and closed the curtains so he couldn't see what was going on. John was beaming on the inside but didn't show it.

About an hour an a half later, Sherlock was almost awake, squirming a little and making moaning noises like a little child in the middle of a nightmare. Maybe he was having a nightmare.

Sherlock's eyes flickered open. He moaned and coughed a bit, and then rolled over to face John. John smiled. His friend was finally awake.

"John?" Sherlock croaked, his voice rasping.

"Sherlock. I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere. Don't worry. Everything will be fine,"

"It hurts. My stomach. Everywhere."

"I know Sherlock. It will be fine though. You know I know how it feels." John said, remembering the hell he went through in hospital.

Sherlock nodded, closed his eyes and attempted to sleep.

"Sherlock. You've got to stay awake. Your body will naturally shut down if you do. Please. For me." John pleaded, not wanting his friend to go again.

Sherlock nodded and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling and drumming his fingers to the tunes of Bach and Beethoven.

Over the weeks that followed, Sherlock was making a speedy recovery. He started to walk in around a week, and they lowered the doses of drugs. He would go around the wards when he was bored, making deductions about the patients.

Molly, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson visited him again, glad to see him recovering and getting back to normal. But Sherlock yearned the familiarity of 221b. The way it smelled. The dips in the sofa that Sherlock and John made when the sat down. His skull. The wallpaper. Shooting at the wall when he was bored. John wanted this familiarity too. He had spent enough times in hospitals over his life.

The day finally rolled around when Sherlock was discharged. The pair eagerly jumped in a taxi on the way back to 221b. Home was calling. They both poured through the door, said hello to Mrs Hudson; who was very grateful to have the two of them back and rushed upstairs.

John sighed, smiling. "Home at last,"

"I was getting so BORED of that bloody hospital," Sherlock remarked as he jumped on the sofa cross legged and turning on the tele.

BBC news was on.

"Former colonel Sebastian Moran has been put in prison for life, serving a minimum sentence of twenty years. He was charged with murder and a serious injury penalty. Now, over to our correspondent Mark, who has the full story..."

Sherlock and John looked at each other, smiling.

"Another criminal brought to justice," John said, smiling again.

They gave each other a high-five which had never been conceived in the flat, but to Sherlock and John it felt good.

The next day, Sherlock had a case to work on as usual, John was blogging about their antics. The craziness had stopped. Moriarty was dead for real this time and Moran was in prison. Normality had returned to 221b. And boy, were John and Sherlock happy about it.

**The End**

**A/N- So this really is the end. I hope you guys liked it ^-^ who knew that what originally was meant to be a one-shot turned into a thousand word, eight chapter fic? Thanks for sticking by me guys. **


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